


he tastes like you (only sweeter)

by emullz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, band au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3546569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emullz/pseuds/emullz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d never been able to have his mouth on the microphone but his eyes on somebody else, someone he could sing to. It wasn’t anything he wanted to perform without again, that was for sure, but she hated him and he couldn’t let his pride go. And so he fell asleep with her harmonies in his head and an urge to run as far away from her as he possibly could</p><p>a bellarke fic in which they start a band and maybe heal each other's broken hearts</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Much For My Happy Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the feel-good hit of the summer](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389424) by [disco_vendetta (brinn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brinn/pseuds/disco_vendetta). 



> so this is kind of a work in progress bc no beta and its late at night and yes, the title is from Thnks Fr Th Mmrs because i love fall out boy and i'm basic.
> 
>  
> 
> pls enjoy

For Bellamy Blake, it all started in a van. 

Not creepily, or anything, it was the cheapest car that would fit his equipment, and even then he got a deal from an old family friend who worked in the impound lot. Sure, it had belonged to a guy who’d offed his boss in a fit of rage, but it had a nice enough trunk and the backseat was large enough to fit Octavia and anyone else who’d decided to come with him on this crazy roadtrip that would maybe define the rest of his life. 

So, yeah, when he was asked what set his career in motion, he credited it to the van. Or, as they fondly called it, Avril (because frankly anyone who said that Avril Lavigne wasn’t their inspiration was lying). And maybe Avril wasn’t what wrote the songs or played the music, but she was where they were written and if there was one thing that Bellamy Blake was it was sentimental. 

And sure, driving from shitty venue to rest stop parking lot and back again wasn’t the glamorous life that Octavia had imagined when she’d agreed to come with him on the summer circuit, but everyone had to admit that there was a certain charm in having your home on wheels, like nothing could ever leave you. And Bellamy and Octavia Blake certainly needed something that was going to stay the same. 

They called their band Whatever The Hell We Want, because that was what they seemed to play, Bellamy letting the strings shred his fingers to ribbons and screaming himself hoarse every night, Murphy and Miller playing adequate bass and drums, respectively. They let Miller ride with them, sometimes, because he was quiet and a maybe friend, but Murphy drove himself, partially because he was a jackass and partially because he spent more time drunk than the entire student body of Tulane combined. 

He loved the feeling of being in the front seat with Octavia next to him, playing One Direction and always fiddling with the air conditioning and sticking half her body out the window to feel the wind in her hair and sleeping for hours after one of their shows. That was the part of it that he loved the most, the in between moments, after he’d gotten all of the rhythm out on stage and he could just drive with bad pop music as an afterthought in the background of his inner monologue and the only person he loved riding shotgun.

Not that he didn’t love playing with his band, he loved every moment of it. The thumping of the baseline, the sweat rolling down his forehead, the dull ache in his wrists when he was done. He just didn’t have anyone to share it with, someone who really understood why he did it. O was just along for the sights and the drinks and the dancing, the music wasn’t a factor. He didn’t blame her, because it wasn’t her fault she didn’t play music. She was an adrenaline junkie, same as him, she just got it in the crowd instead of on the stage. 

So Bellamy got his fix and then he retreated to his van to lose himself in the road, and it was what he always called the first best summer of his life, the time spent with Octavia and Miller and even Murphy as he did whatever the hell he wanted and nothing else. 

Their band never took off, per se, but Bellamy got really fucking good at playing the guitar, and a taste for the road (and Avril). 

It was when he met Clarke Griffin that everything changed. 

\- -

For Clarke Griffin, it all started the night she was born. 

Her father liked to croon lullabies to her whenever he got the chance, because he always said that she was the only one who would listen to his voice, especially late at night when he sounded like he smoked six packs a day. And he was passable at the guitar, which just made Clarke love him even more. Clarke loved Jake Griffin probably more than anything else in the world, and when she took to placing her fingers over his as he switched chords, well, that was it. 

She was good, too, damn good. She played an acoustic guitar and she went to Julliard, because when you had a doctor for a mother the one thing you didn’t do (other than going into the arts) was underachieve. Clarke didn’t want to disappoint her mother on more than one front, so she finished college and got lost in the sea of performers who treated music as more than something they loved, like a profession with grueling hours and practice times and straight backs. 

So Clarke got a job in a coffee shop and played covers of Wonderwall on her breaks and generally did things that her Harvard educated family never wanted her to do and mostly grew up better for it. 

And then Jake Griffin died and the guitar took on a shadow that she never thought it could hold, and suddenly the songs written by others weren’t quite enough to hold her grief. Suddenly, she was writing her own. 

In the months following the death of Jake Griffin, Clarke listened to his iPod and nothing else. Not Wells trying to pull her out of bed, not Jasper and Monty offering booze and weed and homemade cookies, not even her mother calling and saying “this isn’t what he would’ve wanted for you.” 

But then, of course, the inevitability of life reared its ugly head and she couldn’t live with no heat no matter how many blankets she buried herself under, so she got up, walked to the the computer and paid some bills, and then, suddenly, she realized she couldn’t go back into that bed. She couldn’t listen to Dave Matthews Band or Peter Gabriel or wallow in her sadness. 

So she called Monty and she asked for the strongest stuff he had and she turned her stereo on to the darkest music she had (which, at the time, was only Fall Out Boy, but that was okay with her) and she flew into an anger that she’d never felt before, high as all hell on God knew what and with the mainstream punk music blaring. 

After she cleaned up the shattered dishes on her kitchen floor, Clarke let herself reenter her life. She had lunch with her mother and played Mario Kart with Wells and drank a lot with Monty and Jasper. She got a job at a locally owned bookstore that had a records section in the back and she listened to songs with anger in the melodies, songs that made her feel like she was caught in a tornado and yelling at the rain. But for all the normalcy that she regained, the one thing that Clarke couldn’t do was pick up her guitar. 

It was the one that her father had taught her to play on, covered in her doodles. Every time she plucked a string, it was his voice she heard, and she knew she wasn’t ready. Clarke knew she wouldn’t be ready for a long, long time, because losing your world was something you didn’t bounce back from quickly. But she needed music. 

So she emptied her savings account and she bought an electric guitar, and she played it until her fingers bled and all she could hear was a ringing in her ears. And she got good. She got damn good.

So she started singing the types of songs that made her grief feel less like the entirety of the universe and more the size of a small galaxy, songs about her nightmares and the black dress from his funeral and how he lived in each plate that shattered on her tile floor. 

She stopped playing acoustic covers in small coffeeshops and she started playing actual gigs, the types with impromptu mosh pits and teens with hair covering one eye, just her and the girl from the bookstore who said she could sort of play the drums and a guy she’d make out with for kicks, when she was really drunk, who sucked at playing bass but he was attractive in a way that was nothing like what Clarke had always admired in her father. She poured her grief into a microphone each night, and each morning she was a little closer to being okay. 

Finn insisted they come up with a band name, and Roma came up with Little Black Death. Clarke didn’t care, not about the name, not about Finn, not about Roma. She only cared when Finn’s girlfriend showed up after a show smiling and laughing and kissing him everywhere she could reach, saying she was so proud of him and she was so glad she’d come from her semester studying at UTI to see him and find out that he’d tried all these new things and look, he was in a band and wasn’t he so hot the way he played the bass and wouldn’t it be so fun now that they could jam in her garage and she was sorry, she just hadn’t seen her boyfriend in so long and she loved him so much and Clarke couldn’t stand it. Not when this girl was so happy and Finn was such an asshole and she’d been fucking him for weeks.

So she slapped him in the face and told Raven she was sorry, and she didn’t know, and that she hoped knowing made it better, and that was the end of Little Black Death. But it was the night that she picked up her acoustic again and the week she wrote seventeen songs and the week that Bellamy Blake changed her life.


	2. Moonage Daydream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter were they actually talk to each other. you know, face to face. 
> 
> also slamming doors in each other's face, but whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some edits to ch 1 to fit storyline. also why do i always post when its 10 yrs past my bedtime and formulating these things is a near impossible task.
> 
> pls enjoy. or don't, i don't know, maybe you don't like my characterization. i hope you do
> 
> also please don't hate because sometimes i forget that i'm a teenage girl who never leaves the house so some of this isn't accurate, if it isn't please tell me because google sometimes fails me and i make stuff up and i want this to be accurate and real, so

Being what Octavia always liked to call a Starving Artist: Punk Rock Edition meant that Bellamy had to work his ass off 24 hours a day and play every available show that he could book, so when he was about to go onstage and Murphy was tripping on acid and could barely hold his bass, he was kind of pissed (okay, maybe he punched Avril so hard he left a dent).

Sure, where he was stopped wasn’t anywhere that was going to single handedly boost him to the top of the charts, but even another ten followers on instagram was worth the small amount of time sweating and head banging for little to no money (Bellamy remembered a couple times where they payed him in gas and beer). So he asked around for anyone who knew a solution to his problem, like a magical sobering pill or a punk rock angel that could descend from the heavens that looked spookily like David Bowie.

He was directed to Clarke Griffin and told to watch his back. With a lack of better options, Bellamy surveyed the blonde girl nursing a screwdriver and decided that anyone with that amount of ink on her hands and that look of overall disdain in her face could in no way play that night. 

He told Miller to load up and left Murphy to his acid trip, all ready to get into Avril and get the hell out of dodge when he lost Octavia. And then her found her, talking animatedly to Clarke Griffin, of all people, stealing sips of her drink and just being bubbly and friendly and Octavia and Bellamy wanted to go over there and carry her into the van but he knew if he did she wouldn’t talk to him for a week, so instead he sauntered over and looked grumpy. 

“Octavia, let’s go,” he said gruffly, not making eye contact. 

“Bell, c’mon, you wanna play and she said she doesn’t have anything lined up for tonight-“ 

“We’re leaving.” Bellamy didn’t look at the drawn in line he knew would be between Octavia’s eyebrows, or the increased size of the sips she was stealing from other people’s drinks. “Now.” 

“If I’m reading the situation right, you’re almost out of money and you need this gig, so unless   
you have a Prius and are making amazing milage driving from city to city, I’m the one shot you have at eating a decent meal tonight.” Clarke raised one eyebrow and took and raised her drink to her lips. 

“What makes you think I want you playing for me, Princess?” Bellamy felt a sick satisfaction when she winced at the name. 

He didn’t expect her to come back with a reply so fast, though, so he couldn’t argue when she said “because nobody else in this shithole would know a g-string unless it was crawling up their ass.” 

\- -

She gave them a place to stay that night, him and Octavia, and when he said thank you she replied with a terse “I’m not doing this for you,” and then she shut her bedroom door in his face. 

Her apartment was halfway between wrecked and obsessively neat, like she alphabetized half of her stuff and then changed her mind, and as he lay down on her ridiculously comfortable couch, he had to admit to himself that she was damn good. 

He didn’t know how they made it through the whole setlist with her barely knowing half the songs and no bass player, but they managed to make up for it together, and it didn’t sound like his band, it sounded a million times better. 

He’d never been able to sing into the microphone and slip up a chord and know that it was okay, that someone else would pick up his slack before that night. He’d never been able to have his mouth on the microphone but his eyes on somebody else, someone he could sing to. It wasn’t anything he wanted to perform without again, that was for sure, but she hated him and he couldn’t let his pride go, not after she’d actually slammed a door in his face. 

He fell asleep with her harmonies in his head and an urge to run as far away from her as he possibly could with the familiar sounds of Octavia’s snores in the background. 

\- -

Clarke woke up with a headache and the intense feeling that she should be regretting something she wasn’t. And then she remembered the people sleeping in her living room.

She was just about to roll over and go on not regretting or even acknowledging the people camped out in her place of residence when the smell of coffee wafted under her doorframe and she couldn’t stay in her bed any longer, not when she’d wake up and the only thing to drink would be cold dregs. 

Her first thought when she walked into her kitchen was that the girl she’d met last night in the bar was an alien and could not be trusted. Because who on the face of the planet managed to be that chipper in the morning? She hated to agree with Octavia’s asshole of a brother, but she was pretty sure she looked exactly like he did: bleary eyed, heavily mussed, and still wearing last night’s sweat and a hangover. Not like the Clean and Clear commercial making coffee and pouring cereal.

“Nice place,” Bellamy grunted, reaching for her box of Lucky Charms and shaking the rest of them into Clarke’s favorite bowl. They were going to have some serious problems. 

“It’s a little bigger than our van,” Octavia said, perky as ever. “And it has running water, so that’s a plus.”

Clarke settled for her second favorite bowl and the Cinnamon Toast Crunch she kept for emergencies. Picking a fight was for after coffee. “It’s an apartment. I sleep here.” 

“Oh, so you’re one of those?” Bellamy asked. Clarke could feel the condescending high school vibe hit her from across the table like a brick wall. “You know, the a house is not a home, I don’t live here I live in the moment types?”

“I mean my home is gone and this is an apartment where I sleep,” Clarke snapped, reaching for the coffeepot. “You’re welcome to go, if you want.” 

“No, we like it here,” Octavia said absentmindedly, getting the milk out of the fridge. “And anyways, you can’t kick us out or our cereal will get all soggy.”

Clarke couldn’t keep her smile in, and apparently neither could Bellamy. 

Their eyes happened to meet, and when Bellamy looked back down there was a different bowl in front of him. He dipped his spoon in and took a bite.


	3. Bless the Broken Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter in which the whole band is put together and so are pieces of clarke's heart

The 100 was born that night, after Clarke and Bellamy realized there was nothing they enjoyed more than arguing with each other and Octavia rushed out to go do something after their topic choice moved from whether or not putting sugar in your coffee was a sin (sugar is a weakness, and anyways its bad for your teeth) to whether they’d rather play an entire set sharp or flat (Bellamy said sharp because it can sometimes sound purposeful, Clarke picked flat because it was technically easier to get wrong and less people would judge). 

He called her Princess and insisted that this was her teenage rebellion phase, and he didn't want her calling mommy and daddy when she got tired of greasy hair and morning breath and the permanent crick in your neck that Avril's backseat never seemed to be able to iron out. 

This struck a nerve in Clarke, and suddenly Bellamy wasn't sure whether she would come because she wanted to play with them or because she wanted to prove him wrong, but either way he wasn't complaining.

They went on the road two days later, after Clarke had quit her job and said goodbye to her friends and somehow convinced Wells that this was a good thing and not at all his fault because he hadn’t come to see her as often as she’d wanted him to. 

And Clarke insisted on letting her groupies follow them in their 100 year old Honda Civic, because Jasper had a puppy crush on Octavia and Monty knew there was nowhere better (and more questionable) to get weed than at festivals. And they were almost on the road, with more people following them than Bellamy would’ve liked, until Clarke got a call and she absolutely had to turn around because this was so important and could he please stop muttering about it under his breath, Octavia had already taken the U turn and there was nothing he could do about it now. 

They pulled up in front of the same bar that they’d met last night and Clarke got out to talk to a pretty, dark haired girl with a ponytail and grease marks on her forearms. All Bellamy caught of their conversation as they got closer and closer to the car was “well, you’re in luck because we were just about to pull out of town and stay gone for a very long time.” Bellamy groaned audibly. “Oh, shut up, she’s a good player and I saw that piece of shit you were trying to prop up last night-“ 

“She can replace Murphy?” Bellamy asked, this girl suddenly seeming like his knight in shining armor. The girl smiled, and something in her face reminded Bellamy of a great white shark. 

“Hell yeah I can.” 

\- -

Clarke crawled into the backseat later that night while Bellamy was driving, letting Octavia climb back over her to claim her turn sleeping in the passenger’s seat. Raven glanced up at Clarke and shrank back into the corner of the car, folding herself into the junction where the crappy vinyl seating met the door. 

“I like you,” she announced into the silence. Raven blinked, once, slowly. “I think you’re funny and smart and capable and if you can teach that idiot to play the bass than you must be better than you’re letting on. So, yeah, I really like you, and I’d hate for you to hate me because somebody didn’t tell me I was the other woman.” There was a moment of agonizing silence. 

“Did you love him?” Raven asked softly. 

Clarke thought about the first time she’d cried after a set, the way she’d been hiccuping in the bathroom and the way Finn had come in and sat her down on a sink, wiping and then kissing her tears away, being next to her when nobody else was. Then she thought of Wells, and Monty, and Jasper, and felt her chest unknot all at once. 

“I didn’t even know him.” 

\- -

 

The first couple of shows were almost disasters, saved only by Miller’s careful and cautious tempo and Raven’s threat to punch both Bellamy and Clarke in the gut if either of them bickered about one more fucking chord progression. Both of them had various bruises by the end of the first week. By the end of the second, they were starting to sound good. And by the third, they were damn good. Granted, they were only playing covers of every band under the sun and Bellamy and Clarke still couldn’t stop aggravating each other, but the crowd was getting louder and louder every time they played a show.

But it was at the end of the first month that Clarke finished brushing her teeth (toothpaste, no water because they were in the middle of Nevada and the desert doesn’t care if your mouth is minty fresh), walked over to the hood of the car where Bellamy was perched, and declared that she had an ultimatum. 

“An ultimatum?” Bellamy managed to look incredulous while still squinting against the sun. 

“Yes, a fucking ultimatum. I’m not playing under the band name Whatever The Hell We Want. It’s juvenile, and stupid, and it doesn’t fit well on a T-shirt.” Bellamy opened his mouth to reply when Clarke’s voice cut him off. “I’m not done. I have about ten notebooks filled with unfinished lyrics and enough partially completed music to drown an elephant. I’m gathering you have the same. We’re working together on songs from now on, because yours are too attempted death metal and mine are too coffeeshop indie wannabe and I know from experience that we work well together. And, the next time we stop in town we get Avril a new air conditioner, damn the cost to hell.” 

“Hold on-“

“Clearly you don’t understand what an ultimatum is. I give the terms, you agree, or-“ 

“I’m not saying I don’t agree,” Bellamy said. Clarke could hear an all too familiar hint of exasperation in his voice. “I’m just saying that people don’t write song lyrics about their favorite brand of beer-“ 

“Unless you’re a country singer,” Clarke muttered darkly.

“I know, Princess, we all hate country. But lyrics are personal, and all I know about you is what you tell me, which is next to nothing, what Octavia lets slip, which is even less, and whatever Jasper and Monty say when they get drunk. So before I write with you, we’re going to have to hash some stuff out.” Bellamy couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth from turning up ever so slightly. “But yeah, we’re changing the band name. Let’s do that first.” 

\- -

It took five hours and twelve tantrums to come up with a name that everyone approved of. Octavia wanted to change it to something simple, like Ö (and she didn’t back down when they pointed out that they weren’t naming the band after someone who wasn’t even a member, and how did they pronounce that anyways?). Raven was all for The Blown Ups (“What? It’s like grown ups, but with more explosions and puns”), and Jasper was championing Kill the Kid (because apparently it was a movie cliché and sufficiently dark).

Clarke and Bellamy just stood back and watched, somewhat bemused, while the people that had become somewhat of a dysfunctional family attempted to come to some sort of consensus on who got to name the band. Even Miller was getting frustrated after idea after idea of his got shot down. Monty was trying desperately to calm both Octavia and Jasper down, Raven was about to start hitting someone with her monkey wrench, and then suddenly Octavia blew up. 

“We’re going to come up with 100 ideas before we even come up with one reason to like each other enough to get back in that car again if you idiots keep refusing to listen to anything anyone else is saying!” 

Everyone stopped dead. Bellamy and Clarke looked at each other with barely contained smiles on their faces. 

“The 100,” Clarke announced without taking her eyes off of Bellamy. 

“You know, like the rejected ideas. Also, it sounds kinda mysterious.” Bellamy made a ridiculous, over the top, kids birthday party magician face at Clarke, who almost didn’t deem it worthy enough to laugh. 

“I’m a genius and you all suck,” Octavia said, walking away with her nose in the air. Nobody had any disputes. 

\- -

Clarke lifted her hair off of her neck and leaned in closer to the air conditioner, breathing the happiest sight Bellamy had heard out of her in a while. 

“So your ultimatum is almost met,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. 

“So it is,” Clarke replied tersely, glancing in the backseat. Octavia was out cold and Raven’s headphones were turned up so loud Clarke could hear the bass drop from where she was sitting. “You want to meet all of it?”

“I want you to meet me halfway.”

“I don’t know where to start.” 

“Why don’t I start, and then you know how it goes?” Clarke nodded nervously, watching the way Bellamy’s eyes never left the horizon and the way his breath hitched when he started to speak. 

“You know how sometimes you hear those stories on the news, about the tragic story of the children and the way that they triumphed and persevered and wow, you can work hard and succeed at something too! stories?” Bellamy didn’t wait for her nod. “I was that story. You know, I’m nineteen, I’m crashing on a friend’s couch and getting an affordable degree at one of the most local colleges you can find, and suddenly my mom gets caught in a shooting and she’s dead and I’m working three jobs just to get by and keep custody of Octavia, but I slip and I lose her because of a ten I found left under the desks at one of my jobs and the availability of cheap liquor, and when I show up drunk to another job the next morning the boss finds out and I get reported and she’s gone within a week.” 

“So I’m fighting with the court to get her back and the only thing that’s keeping me sane is playing guitar when I’m too tired to do anything else, and then I finally manage to get her out of that home and back to me, and I don’t know, I got a van and I took off, because I can’t let them catch up with me and take her away again.” 

Clarke didn’t say anything as Octavia’s snores increased in volume ever so slightly. Bellamy left his eyes on the road and kept the silence for a little while, until he filled the gaps left by Octavia: “your turn, Princess.” But Clarke couldn’t say anything, not like this, not like they were just trading baseball cards on the playground and they didn’t even know each other. So, instead, she bailed out.

“You don’t hear anything from Octavia because there’s nothing to tell. I was tired of waiting tables, you two fell into my lap at a bar, and now I’m here.” Clarke could finally feel Bellamy’s eyes boring into the side of her skull.

“Bullshit, Clarke. That’s utter bullshit. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck about your life story, I already know what it is. Mommy and Daddy disowned the poor musician when she wouldn’t go to college and then she couldn’t stand it anymore, and she thought it would be such and experience to go and drive around the country with disposable friends, something she can tell her buddies at wine and cheese club when she’s forty five, just after her botox appointment, just after she got off the phone telling her daddy about her newest toy poodle-“ Bellamy’s voice raised in volume with each syllable until Clarke had to scream to cut him off. 

“Shut the fuck up and pull the car over!” 

Bellamy slammed on the breaks and Clarke wrenched the door open, worn through converse hitting desert sand. Bellamy was right behind her, slamming his door even louder. Raven and Octavia looked through the window, obviously confused. 

“My father is dead, you piece of shit! He’s dead because my mother decided that she wasn’t going to tell him he forgot his wallet at home until he was already gone because she was mad at him for something juvenile and she wanted him to have to take time out of his busy day and come home and get it, and now he doesn’t even get to have days anymore! So I’m sorry if I haven’t told you jackasses about my tale of woe, it’s kind of a personal fucking thing, and I can’t think about it without wanting to die so I’m sorry if I was just trying to find a new family that isn’t going to kill each other out of spite!”

Bellamy looked like he’d just swallowed a rat and it was trying to claw its way out of his throat. Clarke looked like she was the one who’d put it there. 

But then, because he knew she hadn’t said any of that out loud before and because he was her new family and he knew that there was nothing else he could do, he wrapped her up into his arms and she sobbed into his shoulder. “Fuck you,” Bellamy heard her mutter into his sleeve. 

"Same to you too, Princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what this is. it's kind of a conglomerate of lots of things that i've written so idk what's happening or what the plotline is, but i'm going to be skipping ahead a lot next chapter for when other things happen like lincoln is happening next and also moments and things and idk what this story is i'm making it up as a i go along (also sorry for the odd writing style, i'm fifteen and i'm learning)


	4. Jack & Diane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke is missing and bellamy tries to save her. also, laundromats and heartfelt confessions.

They were lounging in the shitty motel room they’d all bought on a splurge congratulations for playing their first set with only original songs the night before and not getting booed off the stage. Octavia was nestled against Jasper’s chest as they both used Monty’s legs as a pillow. Miller and Raven were sprawled out on either side of Jasper, discussing the state of the band’s social media, while Clarke and Bellamy sat facing each other on the pullout couch passing a notebook back and forth. 

 

“It’s really funny watching people obsess over you on our instas,” Raven mused, passing the offending comment over to Miller on the screen of her phone. She pitched her voice as high as it would go and batted her eyelashes. “Oh, Miller, fuck me ten ways to Sunday!” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Like we won’t know that’s a direct quote from 50 Shades of Gray, and you’re trying to seduce him using the worst porno known to man.” 

 

“This is why I’m known as the stony silent type,” Miller responded, scrolling up and down through the band’s feed. “I shut up, and they just assume there’s nothing about me to tell.” 

 

“Speaking of things about you,” Octavia said, reaching up and snagging the phone, “and, you know, your illicit love life, I haven’t seen Hannah in a while.” 

 

“She’s studying Hawksbill Turtles in Hawaii for another two months, but Bellamy has it timed so we’ll be around Philly for me to pick her up when we get back.” Miller let the smallest of smiles play on his lips. 

 

“I hope you’re not the stony and silent type in the sack, cause-“  Raven was cut off when a pillow hit her square in the mouth. 

 

“Oh, you asked for it!” Octavia shouted in response to Raven’s furious looking eyebrows. 

 

Miller folded his arms innocently behind his head as Monty finally looked up and pulled out one earbud. Clarke’s phone rang and she got up to answer it, shutting the door softly behind her as pillows began to fly over the bed, hitting every breakable object in the room and miraculously not breaking anything. 

 

Everyone sprang up and began hurling cushions, whooping and laughing. Octavia forced Bellamy to vacate the couch and Bellamy had the brilliant idea to invert it and create Fort Blake. They huddled in and tried to wait out Raven’s inferior tactic of all attack and no defense. Raven, however, recruited Monty, Jasper and Miller to create Fort TNT (“No, let’s call it fort C4, that sounds so much cooler!”). Suddenly tactical warfare broke out and no person or thing was safe from its wrath. 

 

And yes, they did have to pay for the lamp they broke. Octavia was adamant about the fact that it was so ugly the motel should be the one paying them for their services, but clearly the owner didn’t feel the same, and that sucked the mood right out of the fight. The forts came down quickly and Fort TNT (“I still think we should’ve gone with C4”) split the bill for the destroyed furniture. 

 

Bellamy moved the couch back against the wall, throwing the stolen comforter back to Miller. He found his phone underneath two of the overturned cushions, and when he picked it up he noticed the new crack running diagonally across the screen. “Shit.” 

 

He pressed the home button to make sure it was still operational and a text from Clarke floated on his screen, cut in half by the fractured glass.

 

_I’ve got my little black dress on tonight/the one with the ruffles that you always liked/And I’m always gonna be missing you/always gonna wear little black death skintight_

 

\- -

 

Bellamy looked for Clarke for two days, making sure someone was in the motel room at all times in case she decided to come back and crash. He found out what happened when he convinced Monty to call Clarke’s mother and got a frantic story about how her friend had died and how she’d just hung up in the middle of the call and she hadn’t heard from her since, and could they please call her with anything new they found?

 

Bellamy didn’t know Wells too well, but the one time he’d met they guy he’d seemed like a really nice kid. And that’s what he was, a kid. That’s what they all were, Bellamy realized during the two days Clarke remained missing, just kids thinking they were grown up because they could play the guitar and they owned a van. Clarke was supposed to go back for her sophomore year of college in the fall, Monty was barely old enough to buy a lottery ticket, and Octavia was seventeen, with only a GED and a seat in the back of a van to her name. 

 

They weren’t old enough for all of this grief. They shouldn’t have to bear it all.

 

He knew why she ran, he just didn’t know where, and he knew from experience that people didn’t always come out of these things all right. He’d known too many people that just gave up after something terrible. People like Murphy, people who never got over it and didn’t really want to. Bellamy couldn’t let Clarke do that to herself. So he asked around for a pretty blonde in every bar in town, he checked the bus station and asked receptionists in motel lobbies and he ran himself ragged, looking until he could barely see. She didn’t turn up.

 

Monty and Jasper were frantic, Raven was angry, and Miller was silent. They took turns lending him their own particular brand of support in the passenger seat of Avril, Monty with his eyes in constant motion, Jasper with his fingernails half chewed off, Raven with her arms folded tight over her chest, Miller a comforting stone presence. Octavia didn’t let Bellamy out of her sight, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes every time he glanced in his rearview mirror. She hadn’t said a word since she’d heard about Wells. 

 

Bellamy knew he hadn’t said enough.

 

\- -

 

Bellamy found her in a laundromat in the center of town, staring blankly at a dryer. He didn’t walked up slowly, thinking for some reason that if he walked fast, she would get scared and somehow manage to run away again. 

 

He had gotten all the way to the chair next to hers when she started to speak. “Once, when I was a junior in high school and I was still supposed to get into Harvard, Wells came to my dad and asked him if he knew how to fix washing machines.” 

 

Clarke’s voice sounded hoarse. Bellamy didn’t move a muscle. “My dad worked at NASA, so he thought it was a little weird being asked about that kind of stuff, but he knew enough about machines to be able to help. He said yes, and then he asked why, and Wells took him to this laundromat that was kind of near our school. It turned out that Wells sometimes gave people quarters to wash their stuff, and so he knew the owner, and one of the machines was broken and the store didn’t have the money to get a guy to come in and fix it. They did it for free, and neither Wells or my dad lost touch with the owner. Last I heard his daughter just graduated third grade.” 

 

She finally turned away from the spin cycle and brought her face towards him. Bellamy had never seen Clarke so devoid of life, so empty, like her eyes would never hold any sort of light again, just red rings and pain. 

 

“Why is it,” she whispered, “that every man I love leaves me?”

 

\- -

 

First she’d collapsed in the motel hallway under the bad fluorescent lighting. Then she realized her eyes had run dry, and the pounding behind her eyes was because she needed a drink. When she got down to the bar, she realized exactly what kind of drink she needed. 

 

She went home with him because he was everything Wells was, except this time she could be who he wanted her to be. She snuck out the next morning because Wells would never have wanted her to love him like that when she couldn’t. 

 

She didn’t get on the bus because she didn’t have enough money for a ticket. Fitting, she thought, that the girl who was best friends with the son of the mayor couldn’t even afford a bus ticket to the next town over. 

 

She didn’t know where to go, so she went back to the bar and she found someone who was nothing like Wells. Maybe, she thought, that would make it easier. 

 

It didn’t, so she snuck out again and she went to the laundromat and she thought about them. About all the men she’d loved and all the ones she’d never see again, and the laundry was spinning and she didn’t know what to do, because thinking about the way he’d smile when he’d explain biology to her and the way that her fingers felt on his as they pressed down on the strings together wouldn’t stop hurting like a punch to the gut. 

 

But then Bellamy Blake walked in, like he always did, and she told him her broken story and he held her until she was done telling him how unfair it all was.

 

Clarke finally pulled herself out of his arms and she stared hard, directly at him. “You don’t get to leave me.”

 

“And why am I taking orders from you now, Princess?” Bellamy asked, his hands still gripping her arms like he’d never let go.

 

“I can’t lose you too.”

 

Bellamy nodded as her fingers curled around his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this happened. it took a while, i'm sorry. the next chapter will have more music. also, lincoln. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed and didn't hate it


	5. Why'd You Bring a Shotgun to the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bellamy and clarke write an album and make some mortal enemies. also, octavia meets a tattooed hunk named after a president.

Monty and Jasper lent them the Civic (aptly named Jerome) to drive the 6 hours to Wells’ funeral. Clarke said she was going to go alone, because Monty and Jasper said they weren’t high enough and anyways, the Mayor had never liked them off and they respected Wells too much to make a scene at his funeral.

 

Clarke was ready to go alone. She had the engine on and her black dress hanging up on the hanger and she was easing her foot off the brake, and then Bellamy Blake came running out into the parking lot in a shabby suit with elbow patches, of all things, and it wasn’t black it was blue, and it was all wrong and completely perfect. 

 

He climbed into the passenger seat and Clarke looked at him from underneath the sunglasses she was using to hide the fact that she still was only halfway okay. “Elbow patches? Really, Blake?”

 

“I’m not letting you go MIA on us again, Princess.” Bellamy looked sheepishly at his arms. “And they don’t call for suits onstage much. I kind of bought this at a thrift store.” 

 

“I kind of hope you washed it,” Clarke said, putting the shitty car into gear and easing off the brake. “And that you like angry girl music of the indie rock persuasion, cause that’s what we’re going to be playing for six hours.” 

 

“Fine by me. You forget that Octavia grew up on feminist ideals and MTV.” Bellamy shrugged his shoulders out of the offending elbow-patched jacket and tossed it in the backseat. 

 

“And what did you grow up on?” Clarke asked, pressing down on the accelerator and backing out of the driveway, checking each direction carefully before slowly edging out of the parking space. 

 

“Ramen noodles and odd jobs,” Bellamy said dryly, reaching forward to fiddle with the car’s ancient air conditioning system. 

 

“Seatbelt on,” Clarke snapped, and suddenly Bellamy was jerked into the realization that her father had died at the wheel of a car. He reached for the buckle behind his shoulder and pulled it over his chest. Clarke nodded shortly and the car silenced, the acoustic playlist filling the space that rested heavily between them. 

 

Bellamy considered himself really good at car traveler. He knew the what the rules were, and there was only one: the driver had the only say. But then again, this was Clarke, and she was hurting, so Bellamy reached over and stopped the radio, looking at her even when she couldn’t take her eyes off the road. 

 

“You ready to talk?” Bellamy could see the black dress swaying in the side mirror. 

 

“About what?” Clarke asked, her eyes flitting to his for the briefest of moments before staring resolutely at the road again. 

 

“I don’t know, anything. How you’re going to do your hair, what you want to write a song about, whether or not you want me to act like your sexy date to make everyone you used to know jealous.” 

 

Clarke smiled, just barely, and pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. “We have six hours. Let’s write a whole fucking album.”

 

Bellamy practically jumped out of the car to grab his acoustic from the trunk, tossing the case in the back. It landed on the jacket and the edge of the dress, but neither of them bothered to fix it. Clarke simply pulled back onto the highway as Bellamy started with a C chord. 

 

\- -

 

When they pulled back into the lot of the motel (a somewhat expensive stay that they hadn’t really budgeted for), they were met with a bear hug from Octavia (“I can’t stand them, Bell. Did you bring the sedatives like I asked?”) and screams as Jasper and Monty took turns picking up Clarke and spinning her around. 

 

Bellamy was pleased to tell Raven (in whispers) that Clarke’s red rimmed eyes weren’t all from crying. They’d stayed up all night, both of them, driving and picking out strings with the lights of their phones, spending more time with their eyes on a rhyming dictionary than on the road. Exhaustion, they had slowly figured out, was the lesser of two evils. 

 

Miller clapped them both on the back, solidly, and then told them that they needed to get the hell out of dodge before the owner realized they’d stayed two nights past their welcome. They moved right from Jerome to Avril, stopping only to brush their teeth and steal a pillow each for the backseat. 

 

Everyone handled Clarke with kid gloves until Bellamy told her to fuck off and let him play one goddamn Dave Matthews song as a break from all the screaming Pretty Reckless music. They each seemed to let out a collective breath when she flipped him off and pushed her CD back in. 

 

They were on the road again. Clarke was herself. They played three amazing shows and got enough money in their pocket to pay for more than just gas and hotdogs. Everything was going great. 

 

And then Avril didn’t start. 

 

~

 

Bellamy peered under the hood again, hoping that if he looked one more time, he might suddenly turn into a mechanic and be able to fix something that Raven couldn’t.

 

“Look,” she told him again, “get me to a shop and give me the parts and I can get her purring in a day, tops. But if I can’t get what I need, she’s not going to run.” 

 

Clarke was in the air conditioned Roy Roger’s with Miller, picking up lunch, and Jasper and Monty were rummaging around their trunk for a phone book. Octavia was wandering around the pumping station, trying to find nice truckers that could tow them to the nearest car shop. Bellamy wasn’t too sure his sister was the best one for the job, but Clarke was too proud and Raven was too hostile, and Monty and Jasper lacked social skills. 

 

Bellamy glanced over to check on her again and he saw her on the ground, getting helped up by some stranger with a shaved head and tattoos. He thought about running over to grab her and lock her in the Roy Roger’s with Miller and a shotgun, but she was limping over with him and Bellamy really didn’t feel like having to pile into Monty and Jasper’s clown car when his sister was ready for murder, so instead he rushed out to meet her.

 

“You okay?” he asked hurriedly, moving to help her back to the van. 

 

“I’m fine, I just skinned my knee. Lincoln was nice enough to-“ 

 

“There’s a first aid kit back at the van, let’s go.” Bellamy stepped in between Octavia and the trucker. “Thanks for your help with her.” 

 

“Bellamy,” Octavia hissed, “get out of my way. He says his band is touring and they have a bus.” Bellamy didn’t move. 

 

“I’m sorry about my brother,” Octavia continued, peering around Bellamy’s shoulder. “He’s kind of a jackass. We can leave him here if you want.” 

 

Raven slammed the hood and tossed Octavia the first aid kit, keeping one eye on the delinquent. She yanked Bellamy out out of the way, letting Octavia continue her conversation. Bellamy watched from behind the van when she laughed a lot, and put her hand on his arm, wondering when she’d learned to do that when he wasn’t looking. 

 

“D’you want a ride, or do you want to do protecting that your sister doesn’t need?” Raven punched him lightly on his shoulder, to get his attention or as punishment for being stupid Bellamy didn't know. 

 

“He looks sketchy!” Bellamy protested. Raven raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at his collarbone. Bellamy could feel the blood creeping up his neck as he remembered the black ink that ran all the way across his shoulder. “Okay, but he has a full sleeve.” 

 

“Direct Bellamy Blake quote: ‘I’d love to get a sleeve, I think they look so cool!’” Raven exhaled loudly as Bellamy’s scowl only worsened. “Jesus, Bellamy, she’s seventeen years old. It's not like she can't take care of herself.” 

 

Raven kept Bellamy safely behind the doors of Avril while Octavia laughed and chatted with Lincoln, only letting go when Clarke arrived, loaded down with cheeseburgers and drinks. She greeted Lincoln amicably, handed Octavia her fries, and then joined Raven and Bellamy to spy from behind the car doors. 

 

“Is he being an asshole?” Clarke asked offhandedly. Raven nodded. “Well, he offered us a ride if you finish pouting enough to take it.” 

 

Monty and Jasper came sprinting over at the promise of food, apologizing over the lack of yellow pages and spurting out some nonsense about a tour bus and scary looking girls and could Bellamy and Miller maybe go ask for a ride because they were intimidating and both a solid 9.5 to Jasper’s 7. Clarke informed them that no, Bellamy wasn’t really those girls’ type, and anyways Octavia had already gotten them a ride from the one guy on the bus. 

 

“If she’s gotten us a ride, I don’t know why she can’t just come over here,” Bellamy muttered darkly, still glaring in Octavia’s general direction. 

 

“Because he’s actually a really nice person with really nice arm muscles and he seems to really like her,” Clarke noted, passing around their foil-wrapped lunch.

 

Raven nodded in affirmation and took a bite out of her cheeseburger. “And you’re the worst for being stupid and sexist.” 

 

Bellamy turned his scowl in Raven’s direction as Octavia walked sunnily in their direction. “Lincoln’s going to go talk to the rest of his band, but he says that he really wants us on the bus, so I think we're all good!” 

 

“And why should we get in a car with a perfect stranger?” Raven looked sharply at Bellamy’s somewhat hostile question. Clarke just kept handing out cheeseburgers, figuring if he was going to be overbearing, there wasn't anything they could do other than let him wear himself out. 

 

“God, Bellamy, you’re the one that asked me to get us a ride! He’s in this band, the Tree People, and his bus is by the gas station, and he’s not going to mug us or anything so you can stop being such an asshole and start packing up the equipment.” Octavia turned on her heel and marched towards Jasper and Monty’s car. Clarke followed her with the food, shooting Bellamy an apologetic look. 

 

“I don’t like him,” Bellamy scowled, finally taking his eyes off of his sister and meeting Raven’s eyes. He shrank back from her gaze.

 

“You don’t have to, Blake.” 

 

\- -

 

Lincoln walked back up to the Roy Rogers about ten minutes later with a woman who was almost taller than he was. She held her head high and Clarke felt like she was being looked down upon through layer after layer of eyeliner smudged to perfection. 

 

Clarke set her shoulders back, took a deep breath, and waited for introductions. 

 

“Anya,” she said tersely, sticking out her hand. Clarke heard Bellamy take a step up and felt his presence to her right. 

 

“Clarke,” she replied in kind. Anya shook hands like she was trying to break bones. 

 

“You want a ride in my bus, according to Lincoln.” Anya didn’t acknowledge Bellamy’s presence, or the crowd gathering in front of the broken down van. 

 

“If that’s a possibility, it would really help us out, just until we can get that piece of junk fixed.” Clarke forced a smile. “And it looks like one of yours has taken to one of ours-“

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“We’re not jamming our bus full of second rate musicians just because Lincoln can’t keep his paws off your cheap groupie.” Anya smiled, and suddenly her face looked like a garden of glass shards. Clarke felt Bellamy tense beside her. She grabbed his wrist just as his fist clenched, forcibly holding it to his side. 

 

“I’m sorry you couldn’t make it work,” Clarke said in a clipped voice, taking a step backwards. Bellamy stayed where he was.

 

He didn't listen to Clarke hissing his name, instead stepping forward. Clarke realized half a second too late that she was holding Bellamy’s left arm, and he was right handed. That was when his fist connected with Anya’s cheekbone. 

 

And then there was an all out fight, and Bellamy had suddenly moved to Lincoln and Jasper was yelling and Octavia was trying to pull Bellamy’s arm back and then Clarke was on the ground and there was nothing but pain, and then again, and then again, and then strong hands were lifting her up and then there was just darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so idk what this is, really. it's just kind of here. for plot, and all. just to keep stuff moving in the forward direction. pls don't hate it and maybe feedback? i don't really know what i'm doing at this point, or where i am in the show chronologically. this is supposed to reflect the first grounder truce, just in a rest stop roy rogers parking lot and well more things will be hashed out next chapter.


	6. Radioactive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clarke wakes up, bellamy confesses something, and also clarke slaps someone in the face during a completely unrelated incident. (fiar warning, clarke swears like a sailor when she's pissed so)

Clarke woke up to a lot of blurry shapes that were talking too loudly and making her head hurt. She was lying in Avril’s backseat, there was ice on her forehead, and Bellamy was the cause of all the throbbing in her head. 

 

“You motherfucker,” she muttered at the tallest blob in her sight. His face came into focus slowly, and she took in his black eye and split lip with a certain feeling of satisfaction. She repeated herself a little louder. 

 

“Clarke!” Jasper said, still too loud but with a relieved note in his voice that made Clarke feel oddly guilty for getting punched in the face and kicked repeatedly in the ribs. 

 

“Where’s Miller?” Jasper hovered around Clarke’s head nervously. “I want him to kick Bellamy’s ass for me.” 

 

“Miller took Raven to go get paper towels to hold on this nasty cut she got,” Jasper replied. “And I think the Tree People beat him up for you.” 

 

“The assholes who knocked me out are called ‘The Tree People?’ Are you fucking kidding me? That’s the dumbest fucking name I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard all of your shit suggestions on what to name this merry band of jackasses-“ Clarke was silenced by the engine stalling once more. “FUCK YOU!”

 

“Fuck you too, Princess,” Bellamy called from the drivers seat. Monty was attempting to hold in his laughter and failing dismally. “Nice vocab, anyways.” 

 

“I know a million more, you fucking douchebag-“ 

 

“It’s not my fault they insulted Octavia-“ 

 

“She can handle herself-“ 

 

“She’s seventeen fucking years old, she shouldn’t have to!” Bellamy and Clarke both looked out the window to where Octavia was talking quickly into her cell phone underneath the gas station roof. Silence sealed over the car. 

 

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asked gruffly, finally breaking the spell that seemed to have control over Monty and Jasper. Both of them coughed awkwardly and climbed out of the van, pulling out their phones and pretending to text (very obviously). Clarke wished they’d come back into the car. It was a little too much to by lying down in the backseat and be aching all over, not even counting the fact that she had to be alone in the car with the one person in the world that she truly wanted to strangle. 

 

She decided the best thing to do would be to just tell the truth. “I feel like I got run over by a mach truck, and I want to strangle you more than I’ve wanted to strangle anyone in my whole life.” 

 

“I was really worried about you.” Bellamy looked back at the steering wheel. Clarke didn’t respond, she just lay her head back on the vinyl and sighed deeply. 

 

Clarke let him get out of the car and slink over to Octavia without saying a word, only talking once Jasper and Monty returned from their wanderings and took their seats next to her.

 

“Are you okay?” Monty asked, handing her a bottle of water. This time, Clarke lied. 

 

“I’m fine.” 

 

\- -

 

Clarke’s ribs healed almost well, Raven had a kickass scar above her forehead, and there was a bit of a tension between Bellamy and Clarke until she “accidentally” broke his nose (an elbow to the face and a lot of blood). Then, everything was mostly okay, like it always had been.

 

They slowly worked in the songs from the car ride, making sure Miller was comfortable enough figuring out the beats and Raven had her chords (and, sometimes, that Jasper had his bongos and knew when he was allowed to go out on stage and hit them). Clarke and Bellamy merged their vocals, figuring out what sounded good and what just sounded like shit, working in complicated harmonies and counter-melodies with both their instruments and their voices. 

 

So, by the time they ran into the Tree People again, they had gathered a fanbase and a unique (but very effective) performance style. 

 

It was one of the first festivals they’d played, one of those hipster ones that appreciated never before heard bands because it made them cooler, somehow. Nobody in The 100 was complaining, of course. It wasn’t like they had a better option. The Tree People were one of the headliners, still underground enough to be cool but well known enough to have people actually be able to sing along to the lyrics. Bellamy only noticed they were there because Octavia was gone, and when he called her he heard Lincoln’s voice on the other side. 

 

He didn’t go out on stage, she was saying, just acted like a producer and created most of the music they were playing. Ever since they Blew Up the Bridge (Raven’s lovely codename for the fistfight in the gas station parking lot), he’d been wanting to leave the band, because things had been going sour for a long time and he was really nice, she promised. Also that she would be back in time for their set but she was bringing Lincoln with her. 

 

The one thing she forgot to mention was that the rest of the Tree People would be coming too. Nobody on stage noticed, because the crowd was big and if they weren’t screaming the words they were screaming anyways, and dancing, and the entire band was sweating and letting the high of the crowd carry them through their set, Clarke singing with an anger that Bellamy hadn’t ever heard in her voice before and Bellamy letting his two-packs-a-day sounding rasp work its way over the crowd, picking and choosing where it landed. Raven didn’t stay in one place for more than two seconds, working her way steadily across the stage with a sway to her hips that Bellamy was sure half of the crowd was there to watch. 

 

They played the most bump and grind songs they had, the ones about Finn and death and that one that Bellamy wrote that was all metaphors alluding to the fact that the government was inadequate, the ones that made the crowd turn into one swaying mass of sweaty, boho-chic hipsters. It was the best show they had ever played, and everyone in the band knew it. 

 

It was still a surprise when they came off the stage and found Anya standing, arms crossed, in front of Avril (patched up by a miracle named Raven Reyes). She was flanked by two scary looking women with a lot of eyeliner and warlike expressions. Bellamy stopped short and stuffed his hands in his pockets, hoping the thin layer of denim would keep them from Anya’s high, sculpted cheekbones. 

 

Clarke stepped in front of him, glaring, taking an intimidating looking Miller with her. “Do you need something?” she asked, coolly. Bellamy was infinitesimally glad that that voice was directed at someone else for once. 

 

“From the way Lincoln talked about you, I assumed you were a shitty garage band. I had no idea you could actually play your instruments.” Anya tilted her chin up a fraction of an inch more. Bellamy knew what she was doing. He could recognize a power play when he saw one. 

 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Clarke reminded Anya, the ice traveling up to her eyes. “Do you need something?”

The shorter girl behind Anya stepped forward, shoulders back, and smiled, a gesture Clarke didn’t return. “All Anya was trying to say is that you’re very good musicians, and we admire that. And it seems like our audience simply picked up and moved to yours.”

 

“And it seems like I still have trouble breathing heavily because you decided that when someone punches you in the face, you knock out their friend. You know, the one who was trying to hold them back?” Clarke folded her arms across her chest. Bellamy could practically see the hate radiating off of her face. 

 

“That was a misunderstanding,” the shorter girl said smoothly. Bellamy took another glance at the dark skinned woman still standing a step behind and noticed the scar curling savagely around her eye. He watched Clarke raise an eyebrow and snort. Actually snort. 

 

“Do you need something?” she finally asked. 

 

“We need someone to open for us in our upcoming tour.” The girl’s mouth curled up into a smile. It lasted until Clarke slapped it off. 

 

“We’d love to take you up on that,” Clarke said sweetly. “But we should really talk it over for a little while. Lincoln has our number.” 

 

Bellamy couldn’t be prouder as he watched Clarke turn on her heel and walk away from the whole situation. The rest of the band followed suit, Monty tossing a middle finger up over his shoulder and Miller draping what looked like a reassuring arm around Raven’s shoulders. Bellamy assumed it was to keep the girl from throwing in a slap of her own. 

 

As Bellamy exited at the end of their odd little entourage, he glanced back at the girl who’d offered the gig. He could’ve sworn he saw the ghost of a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um i don't really have anything other to say than i hope you liked it and i hope the next chapter is up soon! (also sorry if none of this is factually correct, i know nothing about starting a punk band)


	7. Miss Missing You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where they play a show, everything is great, and then clexa and bellamy's intense abandonment get in the way and everything is basically fucked. (chapter title a fob song cause i am trash and i love bellarke and patrick stump more than life sry)

Octavia actually screamed when Bellamy told her about the offer. Full on, jumping up and down, teenage girl screaming. When she calmed down enough to answer questions, she justified it by saying simply “Lincoln said they travel by bus. Buses have bathrooms and real beds.” 

When this hit him, Bellamy almost started screaming with her. It took only this fact to convince the rest of them to take up the offer. 

The tour started in two months. Monty was ecstatic, given that he finally had “real equipment” to work with, and Octavia was all glow-sticked out and ready to crowd surf. Meanwhile, Bellamy’s leg was jumping up and down uncontrollably and Clarke was throwing up. 

It wasn’t like anything had changed from previous shows they’d done, and they all knew it. Clarke had even said, during their pep talk, that it was like they were going from a brownie recipe for twelve people to a brownie recipe for 24 people. Jasper asked how much weed was in each brownie and Raven muttered “so fucking domestic” under her breath as soon as Clarke mentioned baking. Basically, everyone was the same.

But they weren’t, because now, suddenly, they were legit. They had a reputation and people to make happy and a career that basically hinged on this one moment. Bellamy knew that it couldn’t have been easy for Octavia, to live in a van for most of her teenage years and studying out of old textbooks Bellamy bought used off of Amazon just to chase his dream, but he’d finally gotten her out of that, into a bus with air conditioning and a sink and Murphy beds (with Avril trailing behind with all their equipment, of course). He didn’t want to fuck it up.

But Octavia sat next to him and put her hand on his knee to still his jumping nerves, and he took a deep breath. And then, when Monty gave them the all clear and Clarke spit out her gum and squeezed his hand, something in his head clicked.

After the first chord, the crowd was theirs. 

\- -

They stepped off the stage to a round of shots, and then another, and then a couple beers once the Tree People finished their set, and then a wild drunken afterparty that nobody remembered too well. Clarke woke up the next morning with her head in Lexa’s lap and a vague recollection of something going on with feathers. 

Clarke rolled off of the couch and onto what she thought would be the carpeted floor but was, in fact, Jasper curled around a pillow like a cat. Jasper opened one eye groggily to see Clarke lying on top of him, pushed her off, and then went back to sleep. Suddenly the floor lurched and Clarke almost ended up on Jasper again.

“I didn’t know you were up,” Clarke heard Anya call from the driver’s seat of the bus. “Bellamy’s waiting for you in that shitty van of yours. He wants you to call him.” 

“Someone tell me why they’re attached at the hip, please,” Clarke heard Indra mutter. Paying no attention, she reached into her pocket and found nothing but the cigarette stub she remembered passing back and forth between Bellamy and herself. She pressed it between her fingers and remembered vaguely an argument about littering and compostability and the compromise of placing it in her pocket. Then, she remembered what she was looking for in the first place. 

One look around the trashed tour bus and Clarke realized that there was no way she was going to find her phone among the mess without two extra a people or a cup of coffee. Deciding that people would be easier to co-opt into her mission, Clarke shook Raven and Monty awake. Raven punched her in the stomach and rolled over while Monty just groaned and tossed Clarke his phone. Scrolling through his contacts, Clarke found The Asshole Known as Bellamy Blake (and couldn’t even disagree that it was a masterpiece of a contact name) and pressed the phone to her ear. Bellamy picked up on the first ring. 

“Monty?” Clarke noticed Bellamy’s gruff and slightly bleary voice and wondered vaguely why he was driving in that state of confusion. 

“No, it’s Clarke. I can’t find my phone.” 

“No wonder, after a night like that,” Bellamy said, and Clarke heard the slightest noise of bitterness in his tone. “Never expected you to be one to accept those assholes so completely.” 

Clarke felt a chin rest on her shoulder and she turned around to see Lexa’s nose inches from hers. “Good morning,” Lexa told her sleepily, all quiet smiles and mussed hair. 

“Hold on, Bell- can I call you back? A bunch of people just woke up, and-“ Lexa twined her hands with Clarke’s and she tugged gently. “-I have to go. I’ll call you back.” 

Bellamy heard a giggle and then a click as the line went dead.

\- -

The next time Clarke saw Bellamy, really saw him, was a couple of weeks later. Whenever they stopped for gas, he was always busy at the pump or going inside to get food, and during the show didn’t count as really seeing him. Yeah, they were feeding off one another and dancing and letting their voices weave in and out of each other’s, but singing together was something completely different than talking. Clarke found herself missing his comforting presence as the miles ticked by on the odometer, and even as her fingers made her way through the chords of the songs they’d written together, she knew something was off. 

After a particularly shitty and distant show, when Lexa was done forcing shots into her hands and she’d managed to find him and pull him to the parking lot, just outside the van, the feeling didn’t go away like Clarke had hoped. 

She dropped his elbow and crossed her arms across her chest. When she asked what was up, it was a challenge. Bellamy, like always, refused to accept it. 

“Don’t pull this shit with me, something’s wrong,” Clarke insisted. 

“If you don’t know what it is, then obviously it’s not worth talking about,” Bellamy replied tersely. Clarke huffed audibly. “All right, fine.” 

Both parties straightened their backs, preparing for a challenge. “This idea that you’re the newest member of the Tree People is really fucking stupid, but I get it. They’re bigger and better, the literal greener pasture. I just wish that you would have the decency to talk to me about it first.” 

Clarke’s brow furrowed, and she had to fight to keep down a laugh. “That’s what this is about? I wasted all this time and energy missing you, wondering what was wrong, hoping you were fine, and you’re just jealous that I’m taking advantage of a couple of opportunities?” 

“It would be okay if she was helping you with your music, but it’s different when-“ 

“When we’re deciding to have a little bit of fun? Are you calling me out for being a slut?” Clarke’s gaze could cut glass, but Bellamy didn’t falter the slightest bit.

“I was going to say that it’s different when you stop being a part of us and start being a part of them.” When Clarke didn’t even open her mouth to defend herself, Bellamy felt his heart drop into his stomach. “I knew it, I fucking knew it. Didn’t I say, when you got into the van for the first time, that you’d be gone as soon as you missed your bed and your fucking feather pillow? And here you are, deciding that we aren’t good enough and tossing us out like trash-“ 

“I never said that!” Clarke all but shouted, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes, angry, hot tears that she kept in for fear they would burn her cheeks on the way down. “I never said anything like that.” 

“You forget, Clarke, that I know you,” Bellamy snarled, picking up steam. “I know you better than anyone. I’ve sat next to you while your world fell apart, and I know what you’re thinking. You don’t need to say it, and I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to sit here and watch you abandon us.” 

“Then don’t!” Clarke screamed, the tears finally falling. Bellamy smiled without any warmth, practically bearing his teeth. 

“I won’t.” 

\- -

The next morning, Avril wasn’t parked behind the bus at the rest stop, and Bellamy was gone, leaving a heartbroken Lincoln, and Clarke, sitting on the asphalt with nothing but her rage to keep her company. When she got back onto the bus, she fit Lexa’s mouth onto hers like she could prove Bellamy wrong, like if she just proved that Lexa could make her stay, that he’d be the one abandoning her. 

It didn’t work, and when she woke up tangled in real sheets and not the comforting scent of Bellamy’s flannel draped over her legs, she let a few of her tears dampen the pillow before she got up and started pouring coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry. jesus. it took me like two lifetimes to update this fic. i even got a very politely worded ask on tumblr telling me to please get my shit together. i hope i did. 
> 
> @hannah- i sent you the plot. you can comment proving that there is a plot and a clear endgame to this fic. i have spent too much time and energy and showed you too many song titles for there NOT to be an endgame to this fic. you're welcome for the shoutout. 
> 
> thanks for reading, if you stuck around through my accidental hiatus, you are a hero. if you didn't and this is a new fic, i promise i won't be that long between updates again. you can hold me to it. anyways hope you enjoyed.


	8. Complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter in which bellamy steals raven's underwear and then brings it back (also the end of the story and some conflict resolution)

Clarke hobbled her way through two shows without Bellamy, getting off the stage and right into the bottom of a bottle. She’d wake up in Lexa’s bed with no recollection of how she got there and sit holding her guitar for hours, writing half a song that sounded about as shitty as she felt. Octavia called Lincoln but she spurned Clarke, giving her terse, one word responses through her questions using Raven as the middleman. 

“This is it,” she said suddenly, tossing the phone in Clarke’s lap. “I’m not being your fucking counselor. Deal with your shit.” 

Clarke put the phone to her ear just in time to hear Octavia say “no, I want to give her a piece of my mind-“ 

“Hang up,” Clarke heard Bellamy say, resigned, and she took a deep shuddering breath as the line clicked dead. 

Lexa poked her head into the curtained space in the otherwise cramped bus. “You all right?” she asked, the concern in her voice a little too nonchalant. 

Clarke nodded, because if she didn’t she would have had to admit to Lexa that she needed Bellamy, and Lexa wasn’t the kind of girl who was turned on by that sort of necessity, even when directed at her. Clarke didn’t know her too well, but she knew that much. Lexa was confident, she was independent, and she didn’t need any of Clarke’s baggage.

When Raven watched Clarke swallow visible lump in her throat and blink the tears out of her eyes to go up front and talk to Lexa, she snapped. The phone rang once before Octavia picked it up, sounding like she was in the middle of a battle. 

“Hand the phone to Bellamy,” Raven practically snarled, and she could almost hear Octavia thrust the phone triumphantly towards the driver’s seat. 

“What do you want?” Bellamy asked, as hostile as Raven had ever heard him.

“Look, asshole, I know that you and Clarke are never going to be easy to deal with, but I’m not going to listen to her heart break one more time- and I’m not even trying to be poetic, Blake, I can literally hear it whenever she walks into a new room and remembers you won’t be in it. And I always assumed you weren’t a complete douchebag and I also assumed that you sort of liked hanging out with me and being a part of this great thing we created and if you don’t want to come back for her, then don’t, okay? Come back for me, and for Miller and Jasper and Monty and Octavia.” Raven took a breath. “And, on the way, pick up some more vodka, because Clarke drank it all last night.” 

She hung it up before Bellamy had the chance, and he let the phone fall into the cupholder with barely any resistance. Octavia raised her eyebrows as he took a U turn and started driving back the way he’d came. 

\- -

Bellamy caught up to them at yet another shitty gas station. Monty and Jasper were nowhere to by found, Miller was sleeping in the backseat, and Clarke and Raven were smoking on the hood of Jasper’s beat up Civic. When Raven saw him coming, she flicked her cigarette onto the ground and made a beeline for Avril.

“He left with all of my underwear in his trunk,” Clarke heard her mutter, and she almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she offered her cigarette to Bellamy and he took it, taking a long drag and just looking at her. 

“Where’s your fancy tour bus?” he asked finally, blowing smoke into the air. 

“They got a better deal,” Clarke said, no emotion in her voice. “An offer to open for Mt. Weather. I told them to take it.” 

Bellamy looked at her differently, suddenly, like looking at her wasn’t going to hurt him. “You told them to take it.” 

Clarke slid off the hood of the car and flicked the cigarette Bellamy had returned to lie on the pavement with Raven’s. “Of course I told them to take it.” The anger crept into Clarke’s voice slowly, and then all at once. 

“Am I suddenly not the girl who you found in the laundromat and promised you would never leave? Is that not reality to you? Or did you break your promise and then put all your shit on me? Because I have my own fuckups to deal with, Bellamy, I don’t need you telling me that I’d ever abandon you for someone else!” Clarke was almost screaming, her eyes red. “Did you really think that I’d leave you, after everything else in my life is gone? That I’d leave the one thing that hadn’t fallen to shit?” 

“I love you, and you left me. So yeah, I told them to take the chance, to get the hell out of dodge, to leave before someone has the chance to leave them-“ 

Bellamy grabbed Clarke’s face with both of his hands and he kissed her, underneath the gas station lights. She tasted like stale cigarette smoke and Stride gum, and when she gripped the hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, hard, Bellamy knew. 

It wasn’t going to be easy. It would always be rough with them, the constant push and pull, the jarring noise of a pick sliding on strings. 

“I’m an asshole,” Bellamy whispered when they finally pulled themselves apart. 

“I’ve known that from the beginning,” Clarke said, pressing her forehead to his. “You weren’t subtle.” 

\- -

For Bellamy Blake, it all started in a van. A van with shitty upholstery, terrible gas mileage, and a shared name with the 2000s princess of soft rebellion and anti-pop. And it ended in the front seat of the very same van, with his very own princess belting out Complicated in the front seat and the rest of his family (minus Octavia, who was singing just as loud) rolling their eyes in the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok don't hate me. i know the ending is cheesy, and abrupt, but this story has been leading up to one moment for a while, and it took me in a lot of crazy places, but the image that started this whole thing was avril the van, and i figured since she was my favorite beginning (and it's my story so i make the rules) that she could maybe make a halfway okay ending. 
> 
> this story did get out of hand though, and there's a lot of stuff floating around my head that i have for this universe that didn't make it into the story (like their entire first album and most of the song lyrics and also lincoln's crazy future as a kickass music producer) but i had to end it. i couldn't drag on the drama any longer and i couldn't leave everything just sitting in the "to be finished" folder on my computer. that said, i also don't want to leave all the extra stuff unused, so if you want to see it or have me write a shorter fic on specific parts, please tell me because i want nothing more than to give you all the fluff and angst and bad fall out boy meets the 100 knockoff song titles i can
> 
> so thanks for reading, thanks for leaving kudos and commenting (and if you've been reading since the first update you're a saint, i would've bailed long ago). i hope you enjoyed the fic!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on the media (emullz on tumblr for my personal blog, officialbellarketrash for my 100 blog-- which also contains lots of edits about this fic, so head on over cause i think the instagrams i made are cute)


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